Someone to Believe In
by Ballettmaus
Summary: There was only one thing she ever wanted and when she was finally granted that, life threatened to interfere.


First of all: Thank you Lily_Moonlight!! Without her I would have missed out on the opportunity to find all those words to make that story what it is!! And thank you for everything else!!  
Thanks also to Lime Sweet Pea for the read-through and additional encouragement when I freaked.

Otherwise, I don't have a lot to say. Only that the oneshot was inspired by Ronan Keating's "Mama's Arms". It's not a song fic though.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

* * *

Snow was sailing to the ground, the flakes catching the light that was cast onto them, dancing, sparkling in the illumination before they settled softly on top of their companions. Keen to add to the special glow the city was decorated with already; that glow which reflected the season. A glow that was mirrored by the eyes of children pressing their little noses onto the windows of the department stores as they stared eagerly at the dolls and trains that were right on top of their Christmas wish list. Then later it returned even brighter, when they regarded the Christmas tree in awe; a light, a twinkle, that went unmatched. Something that was reserved exclusively for children and that had the power of warming the heart of family, friends, strangers; of everyone happening to see it. Still more so on Christmas Eve as each child's eyes filled out the homes with that pure and wholesome joy of theirs.  
Except for those green eyes which were gazing into the darkness, adding no sparkle, no glitter to the quiet journey of the snowflakes. Droplets of water hung from the long, dark lashes instead, shimmering like icicles, gliding over her skin with the glistening of melting ice.

She wasn't crying, she hadn't cried and she wouldn't; she just didn't cry. The tears that slithered over her cheeks were silent, nearly unnoticed as they found their path down her soft face. They were warm, almost comforting, a strange contrast to their nature, yet that was lost on her. Exactly like the faint laughter; children's laughter; laughter that was full of the holiday's spirit. It drifted through the hallway and the open door, floated on the light that fell inside, both fading into nothing before reaching her. Leaving her in the dark and deaf to anything other than those spiteful words. Words spoken with the voice of a child yet containing the power to shatter a small, fragile heart into innumerable pieces.

Clutching her doll tighter to her chest, she buried her face into the artificial curls, her own sliding over her shoulders. They normally bounced with life, reflecting her everlasting energy, her vivid spirit, but tonight they shielded her like a curtain. Hid her features from the cruel outside world that denied her all she had ever wanted; all she had ever wished for and the only thing she would ever ask for from Santa. A Santa she now knew wasn't even real.

It wouldn't have mattered; she could have lived without his existence. She had never seen him anyway and if she was honest, the idea of an old man with a white beard visiting all the children of the world in just one night was somewhat odd.

However, she had been told – promised – that he would fulfill those wishes that were impossible to be fulfilled any other way and she had believed that; had believed in him. Had believed that he would eventually make that single wish she had come true. Yet she had been lied to, had been let down, had been betrayed in her trust and her petite body began to boil with emotions. Soon she was bubbling with that passionate temper of hers, the doll becoming her enemy, the object of her envy. The vinyl girl oughtn't to have love and care when she was so alone and she sent it flying through the room. It crashed into the wall, landing somewhere near the door as she sank to the floor. She didn't care about possible hurt to her mute friend; she was hurt, too and the doll didn't deserve arms of consolation if there were none to console her.

None but her own which she wrapped around her pulled-up knees, her small face disappearing within them as her body began to heave with sobs. With cries which were full of pain, full of the hope she had so preciously guarded yet had been unable to save from complete destruction. Her screams, however, were lost in the space, drowned by the ongoing sounds of Christmas cheers and their sound had been forgotten in the deserted corridors long before someone might have heard. Before they could have made someone rush to her side so they could offer comfort; arms which would wrap around her to ease the ache.

She was left with darkness; loneliness and an icy hand that slowly enveloped her heart, conquering it triumphantly. Those broken hearts were the easiest to capture as those cold fingers never had to worry that they would be chased away by the loving arms of a mother, never had to fear that they would have to fight the strong arms of a father. They were the easiest because there was no threat of the warm, protecting touch only a parents' arm could offer. There were no parents and there never would be.

* ~ * ~ *

She had picked herself up again, like she had picked up the doll once she had finished crying, once all the tears had been shed, and she had made a pact with herself that she would not allow to be hurt like this ever again; that from now on she wouldn't depend on anyone but herself. It was a determination that had left those cold fingers stunned, then desperate as it had been unable to spin its web of ice around her delicate heart and despite all its efforts, the wound had healed. As it had and she had gone from child to teenager, the only alternative had become to retreat; to lurk in its shadows and wait for her to make a mistake.

Yet she had grown into a woman; strong, passionate and with a heart so dazzlingly empathetic, its fairy-like fragility, however, still shielded so perfectly.

But the error had come: she had trusted again, depended again on something; someone; on love; happiness and three days ago she had even started to believe again.  
Only to find that she had once more been betrayed; only to have everything whisked away with one phone call. With one sentence; six words which had held the recurring power of devastation.

Closing her eyes she blocked the tears that had blurred her vision; blocked out the winter wonderland that was laid out on the other side of the window she was standing in front of; blocked out the cheerful chatter, the laughter, the delightful music of the season. She blocked out everything but the cold that was engulfing her. The cold that no coat, no blanket, no warming fire would ever be able to take away from her because it was no ordinary cold. It was emptiness that only his arms' embrace had been able to fill, darkness that only his smile had lit up, meaninglessness that only his presence had made significant. A presence he had guaranteed and she had relied on like she had always relied on him; on what he said, as she had done for all those long years they had known each other. There had never been a reason to doubt him, thus she had thought it true when he had mentioned he would be back on the 24th after he had first told her about the conference a week ago. She had believed him when he had reminded her that he would be back on the 24th on their way to the airport. She had been sure of him when he had assured her that he would be back on the 24th the moment they had stood in front of security and his hand had intertwined with hers only moments before his lips had met hers in a first, shy and tender kiss. She had trusted him when he had promised her he would see her tonight as they had concluded the third of their daily phone calls last evening.

But he had lied.

He wouldn't join her at the Christmas festivities; he wouldn't see her in that pearl-colored evening gown that always brought a smile to his lips because it tinted her green eyes in the shades of the ocean. Nor would he find her waiting for him; for that dance they had talked about yesterday during which his arms would hold her tight. The dance they had joked would be their Cinderella waltz as they would take their leave after it to savor the beginning of their own fairy tale.

He wouldn't do any of it because the fairy tale had turned into a nightmare. The kind that destroyed any determination, that the icy hand inside of her lusted after and she let it capture her heart anew without any resistance. It devoured it; stretched its frozen claws from there into her entire body, feasted on her surrender to fight, so sure of its victory since there was nothing left for her to fight it for.

She was alone all over again. On her own with her tears, with her anger, her frustration, her sorrow, her grief. Without any arms to cry in, to laugh in, to be held and protected by; without the arms she had wanted; she had believed to finally have found. Instead her hopes had been viciously shattered once more and this time were freezing over. Like her heart already had; like the tears she didn't shed; wouldn't shed because she wouldn't cry, not here, not now, not without the only arms capable of proving solace. Yet which were nevertheless glistening in her eyes as she now opened them, staring through the glass that didn't seem to show any reflection. Gazing into the night where not a single snowflake journeyed to the ground, not a single star lit up the sky, no wind sang a soft evening song. Nothing, except an eerie quiet as the world seemed to have frozen in respect of the tragedy.

But it would start to turn again; the night would give way to dawn, the sun would rise in a display of colors, bringing out the shining crystals of the snow. It would wrap its warming rays around whoever came into its path and in time it would defeat the snow, would break the layers of crystallized water and ice. There would be no evidence left of winter just like at one point there would be no evidence left of him. Yet winter would return.

And when it did, she would still be cold. The warm rays of sunshine would not have reached her and she would still be frozen from the inside out. Devoid of any emotion. Because all she was left with was a hand of ice that would keep her in its clasp until the last of her days as the arms which could have vanquished it had been taken from her forever.

* ~ * ~ *

A year had passed and she had been right: seasons had come and gone. The snow had given way to the blossoms of spring, the pastels had gone and made room for the vivid colors of summer. Eventually those had faded into a whirl of fiery shades as the winds had picked up and leaves had started to fall. Then winter had come back.  
But as the first ambassador of the cold had settled over the city, she had, unaffected by any chill, snuggled only deeper into his arms. Wrapped into their safe embrace, she had watched the city being dressed into its concluding and most magical coat; a diamond blanket of white decorated with icicles sparking in the sun like crystal chandeliers, trees frosted with snow like icing on a cake.

Tonight though there was nothing enchanting in the violent swirling of the snowflakes. The wind blew them into each direction, toyed with them as it pleased while it was holding the city hostage in its threatening rage. However, as much as it tried to destroy any warmth and coziness, it was unable to reach inside, unable to do any harm on the other side of the window it was tossing the snowflakes at. They melted instantly, not standing a chance against the heat that emanated from the glass and trailed down like tears, their transparent shimmer reflecting the shades the Christmas lights offered. The spectacle of color glistened in her eyes, played with their natural green, let them twinkle in all the hue of a rainbow while she gazed into the night as if she hoped to catch a glimpse of Santa.

A Santa she had learned did exist the same instant she had begun to believe in miracles.

The same instant that hand of ice had vanished; melted into the nothingness it had held her captive in, despite having been so confident of its final victory. The triumph which had lasted for merely a few hours; until only moments after the stillness of the night had been disrupted by the shrill of the doorbell.

It hadn't woken her; she hadn't slept, she hadn't cried, hadn't been able to do either. She had just lain there, holding on to that doll that had survived and forgiven her the ruthless treatment from all those years ago. And she had stared. Stared into the darkness, the void which had stretched in front of her like a long corridor, empty shadows which she had known would follow her wherever she went and she had wanted to be swallowed by. To forget. To pretend. To ignore. To ignore that ongoing ringing of her doorbell.

But the more she had willed it to stop, the more constant it had become. The more she had wanted whoever it was who was torturing her to go away, the more persistent they had become and her body had eventually risen from the bed. It had led her through her apartment towards the door she had reached for, clutching it in desperation. There had been no strength inside of her to face anyone who would require answers she didn't have the desire to give, who would provide details or condolences she didn't want to hear.

Yet she had opened the door and her visitor had rendered her breathing to stop, her beating heart to freeze. Its shattered pieces mending immediately though at the sight of him.

Him, who she had never imagined she would ever see again but whose presence left those long fingers of ice no choice except to retract their clasp on her once more. Him, whose deep, soothing voice she hadn't imagined to ever hear again but with which he had told her about the heavy rain storm, the resulting accident, the traffic jam, about all the circumstances that had kept him from ever boarding that fatal flight. And it was that familiar baritone of his with which he had gone on to explain what had prevented him from calling her. Then he had fallen silent, briefly; only for the time he had needed to realize that nothing he said really mattered. That only his being there did, and his velvety tone had filled her ear again, whispering words of affection as he had drawn her into his arms.

She had broken down crying right then and there, finally able to feel the emotions that had built up. Finally able to restore hope and trust for good.

Gently, those arms now slid around her waist, pulling her close, making her smile. They didn't own the tenderness of a mother's, they didn't have the strength of a father's but they were full of care, of willingness to share times of need, sadness, happiness, of infinite love. Of everything she had ever wanted.

Completeness overwhelmed her at that gesture of his she so loved; just like she loved to sink into his chest in return, loved to find his hands, rest hers upon his. Their fingers entwined, caressing, playing in affection, stilling again but remaining interlaced. Slowly she guided his right palm over her stomach, placing it right below her belly button, right where the movements of that tiny human inside of her were the most perceptible. In response, his left hand began to explore hers once more, engaging and touching, leading them further into that world of theirs. Her head then turned, their indestructible bond strengthening as it did each time their meeting eyes created that most magical shade of turquoise and emerald. Layers of sparkles shimmering like fairy dust, radiating with that precious, reserved glow which had captured her gaze at last. Not because of the season; not because of any laughter, music or any presents she was waiting for in anticipation.

She didn't need any presents; not anymore. Not since that night when he had bestowed her with all she had wished for and in the closing days of May had promised her in the most intimate ceremony to be with her for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death would part them. And even then, he had whispered into her ear, he wouldn't leave. He would be with her until the end of forever and she had believed him. For the simple reason that she believed again; for that she knew he was telling the truth; knew because there was nothing left on her wish list for Santa.

Regardless, she had been presented with that gift their hands still protected; they both had been. They had given that greatest of life to each other the night after they had sealed their bond of love, and they would offer in return the greatest that they could give: the arms of a mother; of a father; arms of love.


End file.
